John's Letter
by PlagueRatEchelonKilljoy
Summary: It's been three years since Sherlock died and John finally opens the letter. Very short one shot. Rated K just to be absolutely safe, there are some pretty deep emotions. Sorry if it's poorly written it's my first fic on my own. Johnlock.
1. Three Years

**Three Years.**

It's been three years since Sherlock Holmes died. Three years since John came home and saw the envelope on the mantelpiece, his name written in Sherlock's handwriting. He hasn't been able to bring himself to open it, hasn't even lifted it from its spot in three years. Just seeing that handwriting wrenches his heart, makes tears well in his eyes, bringing back memories of a life he used to live.

He'd quit his job at the clinic a month after Sherlock's death, he couldn't handle being around people. Everything had seemed to remind him of his late best friend, someone wearing a long coat, an overly arrogant child, a man with curly hair. Sarah had tried to convince him to stay but he knew she understood. Instead he took cases, from anyone that would give him one. It was the only time he ever saw Sherlock, when he was trying to solve a mystery. It was because of this that he tried to never be without a case that way Sherlock was with him all the time. It wasn't the same as when he had been alive, but it was better than nothing. John didn't think he could have survived without Sherlock there.

He'd stopped seeing Sherlock about a year ago. He'd been out on a case, Sherlock by his side, helping him through the process as he always did. Sherlock smiled at him as he solved yet another one and said, "You don't need me anymore John," before he slowly faded away. John had given a sad smile, he hadn't protested, knowing that after two years it was time for him to move on.

About a month after Sherlock left he dropped the cases and got a job in the ER. It wasn't a glamorous job but he helped people and it made him feel good about himself. People still reminded him of Sherlock, if he heard a deep voice he would have to turn around, just to be sure. It still hurt just as bad as it had before, still brought tears to his eyes, still made him feel sick to his stomach. Nothing had changed, except now he could deal with it. Now was the time, he would finally open the letter.


	2. The Letter

**The Letter**

It was a rather thick envelope; clearly there was a lot Sherlock had felt the need to say. John's thumb traced over the handwriting on the front, it was Sherlock's only different. He had taken time writing this, he had focused, not using his usual quick scribble. It made John choke a little as he fought not to cry. Taking a deep breath he turned the envelope over and opened it.

_John, _

_I know that through everything that is happening now you will have stood by me, not once believing the things Moriarty said. I thank you for that; you have always been a good friend to me. It is because of this faith you seem to have in me that I feel the need to explain what is really going to happen, or rather what had happened as you will not find this until it is over. (I will be writing the rest of this letter in the past tense so as not to confuse you.)_

_After the incident with Lestrade I realised that Moriarty's plan was to disgrace me. He wanted to make sure I had nobody to fall back on, nobody to help me. I remembered something he said to me, that day at the pool "I will burn the heart out of you". It occurred to me that he might, no; he WOULD threaten the people I hold dearest. So I devised a plan._

_I knew Moriarty would have men trained on you, Mrs Husdon and Lestrade. The three people I consider to be my friends. He would offer to spare your lives in exchange for me taking my own, the ultimate humiliation. His one final way of proving that I was a fraud. I had no way of getting out of this, I would not risk your death to save my own life, but I could at least choose my terms. _

_I had to fake the phone call about Mrs Hudson, I'm not sorry John. I had to make sure you didn't try to stop me. I know you will have gone to her; you're like that you know. When you left I sent a message to Moriarty to meet me on the roof, of course he would come. We talked, I asked all the questions I needed to, just to give myself some time. Of course I had it all figured out by then, couldn't be writing this letter if I didn't. It would look rather silly to you I'm sure, seeing that I got all of this wrong._

_Moriarty shot himself, my one last victory before I died. I had to call you John; I couldn't die without saying goodbye. I had to tell you all of those things, though I hope your faith remained strong. I have no doubt that it did._

_This however is my final goodbye. I haven't been completely honest with you John; there are things I need to say before I die, things you need to know. Had Moriarty only threatened Mrs Hudson and Lestrade I may have considered devising a plan, I would have faked my own death. Had he only threatened you, the outcome would have been exactly the same as it is now. I couldn't risk my plan failing, not for you John. For you I am willing to die._

_You're my best friend, the man who made the Great Sociopath Sherlock Holmes actually feel emotions. I sit here now, thinking about you as I write this letter. I can see your not-quite-so-blonde-anymore hair, the ridiculous jumper you're most likely wearing, and your brown eyes. You've got the most wonderful eyes John, kind, caring and so very deep. It's no wonder you always have some girlfriend or other._

_I realise this isn't going very well, but have patience with me John; I'm not good with emotions so this is very difficult for me. I want to say thank you John, for being the wonderful man that you are. I know I once said that you're not the most luminous of men, well I was wrong. You shine brighter than anyone I've ever met, including myself. Ever since I met you, you've been the only person that hasn't called me a freak or claimed that I'm some sort of psychopathic fraud and it's been the most wonderful feeling, to have a friend._

_I also want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being as good a friend to you as you were to me. I'm sorry for all the body parts in the fridge, and for scaring away all your girlfriends. I didn't do it for fun John; I would never do anything to hurt you just because it might be fun. I did it because I was jealous; I hated you spending all your time with them. I hated it because you shouldn't have been with them John, you should have been with me. I know you're not gay; you don't need to say it again. But I'm about to die John, so just let me have this one last thing. _

_I never told you how I feel about you and for that I'm also sorry. I couldn't risk losing you John; I would rather live with you as a friend than never see you again. I couldn't have survived that, I know I couldn't. I'm writing this down because it would be impossible to tell you this face to face. As I'm writing the tears are falling, I know you could never feel the same way John and I don't blame you for it. I only say this now because I don't want to die knowing that I never told you, that you never knew. _

_John Hamish Watson I love you. _

_Sherlock Holmes x_

The pages were stained with tears; John could see where Sherlock had tried to wipe them away. He could see how hard this had been for his friend. The handwriting started out neat and perfect but the further he got the harder it became to read, Sherlock slipping back into his usual scribble as he tried to write through the tears.

There were now fresh tears upon the pages, John's mingling with Sherlock's, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. What's the point? He looked up to the man standing before him, the man he hadn't seen in a year and he smiled.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
